Stuffed squid, vacant looks

'You never knew my mother, but you are lucky - you get to taste her best recipes, through me,' boyfriend Maiyuu told me.

Maiyuu last night made a dish of stuffed squid, just like his mother used to make it.

His mother, who was a terrific cook, used to make it when Maiyuu was a boy.

Maiyuu remembers how good it tasted, and last night set about making the dish himself.

In the afternoon, we went to the Central department store on Rama 3 to buy the ingredients.

Maiyuu says our local Tops supermarket did not have everything he needed. He cycled down there in the morning to buy the squid from a fresh market opposite. He bought the mince, coriander and other things he needed at the Central supermarket.

Like the Tops supermarket, the one at Central is also within walking distance, as Maiyuu discovered yesterday. We argued while I was there, which resulted in him having to walk back alone. He had run out of money to get home, and stormed off before I could give it to him.

I went home by taxi, while he walked. He turned up 10 minutes after me. We argued again, he locked himself in his room, but within another two hours, it was over.

Before making the stuffed squid dish in the evening, he whipped up a Mexican tortilla for us each. Those ingredients also came from the supermarket at Central.

Why did we argue? After finishing at the supermarket, we walked around the shops on the upper floors.

Maiyuuu reckons I was walking in a daze, which annoyed him. I told him I would window-shop in any manner I chose - dazed, fully alert, or whatever.

As I say, we put that argument behind us. It just wasn't worth dwelling on.

Nitpicking at the outreach clinic, tenant's revenge

I saw a doctor close to work the other night. I visit a clinic staffed by doctors from Chulalongkorn Hospital.

That's a fancy hospital, but the clinic, which is in a slum, is not.

I asked about my ear, which feels sore and blocked.

'Did you play Songkran?' the doctor, a woman in her 30s, asked immediately.

When I first entered the clinic, the doctor was sitting behind the counter slurping on a Pepsi. From her casual appearance I took her to be a nurse, but I was wrong.

'No...I'm too old for that,' I replied.

Songkran revellers like to squirt each other with water, which can cause infections if it is dirty.

'I swim every day, but at the moment the water in the condo pool is green,' I said.

The doctor looked inside my ear and told me the canal was swollen.

She gave me two types of pills - one to abate pain, the other to cure the infection.

They are general all-purpose pills which dispensing staff keep behind the counter in jars.

The clinic, as I say, is in a poor area, where patients probably cannot afford expensive drugs. If I wanted a drug specific to ears, I might have to go somewhere smarter.

The dispensing counter, where patients report when they arrive, sits outside the only consulting room.

Two staff, possibly nurses, sit behind the counter looking after patients. As I handed over my prescription, one nurse was standing, peering into the other woman's scalp.

She held a pair of tweezers. She was parting the woman's hair with her other hand, as if looking for something. Every few seconds, she would pluck something out of her scalp, then lay it to rest on one of the jars in front of her. These drugs are so all-purpose, staff keep them in jars.

What was it? Nits, fleas, lice?

I didn't ask. The woman who was having her head examined took a quick look at my script, and started transferring my pills from jars into clear plastic bags.

We chatted, while the woman next to her carried on inspecting her head. She did not stop, nor did the woman serving me ask her to take a break.

She rarely looked up as she filled my prescription. She had to keep her head bowed while the woman poked about in her scalp with tweezers.

Snip, snip! Scratch, scratch!

The doctor came out to join them behind the counter. She resumed drinking her Pepsi on ice from a plastic bag.

'Why do I have to take so many tablets - four at a time, three to four times a day?' I asked.

'Farang have big muscle mass, so you need more,' she said, as she sucked on her straw.

The nurse handed me my little bags of pills, and I paid.

As I left, she was still having her head examined.

I hope they remember to clean the jar where she kept her lice deposits. If not, the next patient may end up taking away more than just pills!

-
Farang C and I have decided to tackle the parking offenders at our condo in our own way.

Farang C is both my neighbour, and a colleague. We get sick of tenants parking outside our condo building, as it obstructs access.

Last night, we decided to do something about it.

At work, I drew up a notice which says in block letters: 'This is not a carpark. Go away!'

Farang C promptly took it to the photocopier and made 20 copies.

He gave some to me, and kept the rest. Now, when either of us spots a parking offender, we shall (in theory, at least) put one of these screaming notices under the guy's windshield.

We shall also hope he doesn't catch us while we are doing it.

The condo cleaners did what they could. They erected barriers of potted plants outside our building - number 2 in the complex - where lazy tenants like to leave their cars rather than carrying on to the carparking building at the far end.

Even with the potted plants, some owners still leave their cars there for extended periods.
One stubborn Mercedes owner even took to parking right in the condo entrance, until security guards filled the space with traffic cones.

I found the cleaner again yesterday, and asked if the Mercedes owner is Thai. He is indeed, she said.

That's good. If a farang caught me sticking a rude note under his wiper, he might get angry.

I would think twice about leaving a nasty note for a farang. So few foreigners drive cars in this town, he is probably inordinately proud of his status vehicle.

Thais are more passive, but might still ignore the message - we will see.

Croissant surprise, stubborn motorists, PAD plots

Boyfriend Maiyuu made a tasty snack with sliced bread which looks like croissant.

He made toasted ham and cheese sandwiches out of it. It looks like ordinary bread, except it has flaky texture like pastry.

The surface is covered in pastry circles and whirls which we normally associate with croissant bread rather than the plain sliced stuff.

But he didn't make the bread component himself. 'I bought it at the 7-11,' he said proudly. 'I have only ever seen it there.'

-
Two of the cleaners at my new condo had a good idea. Why not drag potted plants into the courtyard area, to stop cars parking there?

This condo, as smart as it is, has a small problem: tenants (or visitors staying the night) park their cars in our courtyard.

They drive in the entrance to the condo, but rather than carry on to the parking building at the far end of the complex, stop in front of the place where they are spending the night.

A fountain sits in the middle of the courtyard closest to my building.

Motorists are supposed to do a U-turn back out, or carry on to the parking building to the west.

Most tenants just stop at the fountain, as they can't be bothered.

This is annoying, as the rest of us must pick our way through their vehicles to get to the entrance.

The courtyard is part of a children's playing area, but if the cars are there, kids can't use it.

A sign tells motorists not to park in front, other than for short visits. Most ignore it.

Small potted frangipani trees sit on the courtyard periphery. Two cleaners yesterday dragged them into the space where the cars normally park, to deter them.

It worked, up to a point.

Last night when I came home from work, I saw that one stubborn motorist had decided not to take the hint.

He managed to find a place to put his large silver car in that restricted space anyway.

'Some idiot Thai has decided to park his car in front, in spite of all the evidence that says he shouldn't,' my colleague and neighbour farang C complained in a text message. He must have seen it, too.

'I think we may need to put a rude notice on his car,' I replied.

As I write, I am contemplating what to say.

If I write in Thai, and the owner is indeed Thai, he will probably just ignore it.

If I write in English, he'll get a fright, I hope.

Now, how best to put it?

-
'The yellows hired thugs to commandeer the LPG tankers during the street riots,' an Esan trader told me.

'Can you imagine the reds setting fire to buses? I can't. The yellows were behind that as well,' she said as she was making my lunch.

The woman runs a small eatery close to my condo. It consists of a few plastic tables and chairs, a cooking area, fridge, and a tarpaulin cover to keep away the rain.

The shop is a short walk from my condo and the serviced apartment opposite, which has many farang tenants.

Despite that, few foreigners ever visit this eatery, perhaps because they are fussy about their food.

It is clean - by Esan standards, anyway.

I have visited her shop a few times to eat khao pad krapao. The owner, a woman in her 40s, runs the place with her husband, but has plenty of help...at least two other women were cooking.

Her teenage son also turns up regularly, as do the young motorcycle taxi drivers who have a perch outside our place.

The other day I started chatting to the owner about politics. Coming from the Northeast as she does, it was no surprise to find she likes the reds over the yellows.

The reds were not really behind the mayhem on the streets last week, she reckons. The evil yellows hired thugs to do it instead, to impersonate the reds and undermine their credibility.

The reds (United Front for Democracy against Dictatorship) back former leader Thaksin Shinawatra, whose support base is in the North and Northeast.

The yellows come from the People's Alliance for Democracy, backed mainly by Bangkok middle-class types, bureaucrats, and the palace.

Next time I visit, I shall ask the owner's name, as I want to write about her again.

If I have been looking for a new Thai crowd where I can mix, I may have found it at this little fence-side shop.

For now, however, it is enough to know that she is as steadfast as any other northeasterner in her support of Thaksin, and loathing of the PAD.

Her son, who was raised in Bangkok, can't see the point in supporting either side.

'The yellows are happy, as the Democrats are in office. But when the next election comes, they will be booted out and the Thaksin-backed crowd will come back in.

'Then the yellow protests will start again, and so on it goes. The trouble will never end,' he says philosophically.

Next time I visit, I shall also ask about an attempt yesterday on the life of PAD leader Sondhi Limthongkul.

The media 'firebrand' was shot up by bad guys as he was on his way to work.

Sondhi, post-op

Gunmen following his vehicle opened fire with automatic weapons. More than 100 shells were found, but Sondhi sustained only a surface wound to the head.

The PAD reckons that renegade factions of the military or police might be behind it.

After a three-hour operation at Wachira Hospital to remove shrapnel from his head, Sondhi was moved to Chulalongkorn Hospital.

Security for Prime Minister Abhisit Veijjiva has been tightened.

I am sure my new Esan friends can find an equally plausible explanation for that one. I am looking forward to hearing it.

Thailand? Bring it on! (aka Boyfriend gets reprieve)

I have decided to stay with Maiyuu. He deserves nothing less, as he comes from a poor family, and doesn't have my advantages.

I could kick myself now when I consider how foolish I have been.

Why question love, when it feels so unambiguous?

Why ponder retirement, when it will happen as night follows day.

I may as well be poor, living with Maiyuu, than relatively well-off, but alone in the West. Love conquers all, even an empty bank balance.

--
I read the comments, and realise that some of my readers were UNHAPPY about the recent series of posts on whether I should stay with the boyfriend or go back to the West.

Thailand has not felt the same lately, I wrote, since my return from a recent trip to Malaysia.
I suspect my love for Maiyuu was simply at a low ebb, so everything around me looked black.

Now that we have rekindled our love for each other, Thailand looks just as bright, breezy, and wonderful as it did on the very first day when I set foot on its soil.

I should get down and kiss the ground, the way former leader Thaksn Shinawatra once did, after returning to Thailand from a brief period of exile abroad (he's now in exile again).

Kathoey affectation, ear affection

I took Maiyuu out for lunch yesterday.

The green place which we ate in last time was closed - the staff were standing outside the shop, squirting water at Songkran passers-by - so we kept walking down Soi Sri Bumpen.

We walked right past the gay cafe, which bores us both. Maiyuu has never eaten there, but I have, and told him about it.

The gay cafe is owned by a farang guy and his Thai gay mate, a showy type who parades himself before customers, making a spectacle of his gayness.

If he has his hands full serving, he uses his butt to open the glass door. That's for the benefit of customers. Ooh, how naughty!

For those of us who have seen it all before, the reaction is more jaded: 'Yes, darling, we know you have a butt.'

We ended up at a steak house which my friend, farang C, tells me is run by Burmese. They work 12 hours a day, he says.

I told Maiyuu how hard they work. He said nothing, but did not look impressed.

Opposite the steak eatery is a bar which attracts many farang tourists.

A handful of kathoey and showy gay types was there. Some wore denim shorts so small they reminded me of teabags.

White underwear, de rigueur for the tacky bar set, peaked over the top, down the sides, out the bottom...all over in fact, as there was nowhere else for it to go.

Squealing, prancing and preening, two or three kathoey walked on to the street to hail a tuk tuk for Silom.

Trailing after them was a fair-headed farang guy in his 20s, no doubt a tourist. So you thought you were straight, did you? Welcome to Thailand!

He looked embarrassed, yet also enthralled.

I suppose he had made the common mistake of befriending them over a drink, and now could not get rid of them.

Maiyuu watched with interest.

'Oh-ho!' he said, the Thai equivalent of 'Wow, or 'How about that!'

What he meant was: 'Sluts!'

-
I have picked up an ear infection from the condo pool. Water entered my ear, and won't come out. An infection has taken hold, and appears to be spreading...last night my jaw felt sore, my glands had swollen.

In Soi Sri Bumpen, I bought ear drops to clear the infection, and Actifed to stop the ringing in my ears.

The ear drops are called S. M. Oto, made in Thailand. 'For the treatment of ear affections,' says the box.

Ear affections? Left to Maiyuu - who reckons I over-dramatise illnesses when they strike - that word should probably read 'Affectations'. Of course I am not really sick - just pretending.

I asked him to apply the eardrops yesterday afternoon. Ouch! Could we do it a little more sensitively please? After work last night, I did it myself.

Maiyuu himself is feeling out of sorts, with a headache, and sore throat. An affection, my dear - or mere infection? Tell Daddy what he needs to know, so he can spend money to make you better.